


Brendon Kicks It Up A Notch

by Merkey666



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Christmas Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobic Language, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkey666/pseuds/Merkey666
Summary: Brendon's parents are coming over dinner- his somewhat homophobic parents -so, he does everything he can to prove that in his house, things go his way. It's wild.





	Brendon Kicks It Up A Notch

**Author's Note:**

> Day Two- This one is really that Christmassy because I wrote it over a year ago. That being said, please give me a break over how strange it is. I went over it before I posted it, obviously, but still. 
> 
> I usually ask for feedback, but on this one... Idk. If you like it, lemme know plz

I need a solution. A solution to my parents. My extremely homophobic parents. And a solution to the fact that they are coming over for an early Christmas dinner a little earlier than this time tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve got less than twenty-four hours of freedom and the seconds are ticking away. I do in fact have a solution, that solution just hasn’t agreed to be the solution yet. It’s not really the solution to their homophobia, but it’s the solution to me surviving the next thirty or so hours with my parents. And I haven’t asked. I just need to pick up the phone, dial the solution’s number, and pick up the solution. And then this will all be solved. Mostly. 

I stare at my phone blankly. If you think about it, that’s all it boils down to. It’s not that hard. I pick up my phone and click on the phone icon. I half dial the number before I drop my phone on the bed again. Why is this so difficult for me? He’s probably done this for Spencer or someone before. Right? I groan and pick up the phone. He might not even answer. That wouldn’t be good for my situation, but it’s somehow calmly. I finish dialing the number and click call. The line rings for a few seconds before his familiar voice pipes up.

“Hello?” Ryan asks. I sit there, throat suddenly dryer than the sahara. 

“Brendon? Hello?” he asks. I end the call and drop my phone. I smack my face into my hands. God dammit.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Try, try again three hours later after putting it off for those three hours. I’ve got that feeling in my stomach where I know that procrastinating will only hurt me more, but I still can’t make myself do anything about it. Grumbling inwardly, I pick up my stupid phone and dial his number again. Once again, he picks up. For once can’t he be busy or something?

“Brendon, what the fuck do you want?” he asks angrily. Great. 

“Can you come over?” I ask quickly, tongue tripping over all of the syllables. I sound completely pathetic. He sighs.

“Brendon, it is midnight, a week from Christmas. What could you possibly want?” he gripes.

“I need to ask you something,” I reply, playing with the frayed sheets.

“Ask me here.”

“I can’t. It would… be weird,” I reply. That sounded suspicious. He probably thinks I’m going to ask him to marry me or help me bury a body of a man I killed. Either matches the level of nervous I’m feeling. 

“Um… Okay. I’ll uh… be there in fifteen. I- I guess,” he replies, hanging up quickly. I bet he’ll call the police. That seems like him.

And yet, at 12:15, someone knocks on my door. 

I grapple with the locks and chain and shakily pull open the door.

“What in the actual fuck do you want, Urie?” he growls from under a few layers of scarves. After a moment of me not finding the words to answer him, he glances up and softens at the look on face. I don’t know why that is, but I think I might have been crying or something. He sighs and brushes past me, making a b-line for the kitchen. Moving on in like he owns the place, he grabs a bottle of beer out of the fridge and plops down on a kitchen stool, sighing heavily.

“Alright, lay it on me. What do you need?” he asks in a much more steady tone. I let out one long shaky breath and swallow, hard. He cracks open his beer and takes a long sip. I slip into the chair next to him and twiddle my thumbs together, mind reeling. I didn’t think this far ahead. 

“C’mon, you asked me here at midnight for a reason, so what is it?” he asks, looking at me with those chocolate eyes. 

“So…” I take a huge gulp of air. “MyparentsarecmoingtotownandtheyarehomophobicandIhate thataboutthemsowillyoupretendtobemyboyfriendasafuckyoutothem?” I ask. He stares at me, silent.

“What the fuck, Brendon!?” he shouts, and fairly so. I shrink back into my chair, skin crawling. Not sure what I expected, to be honest.

“I’m sorry I knew I shouldn’t have-“

“Nonono- Stop for a second. Are you serious?” he asks. I cross my fingers under the table and nod sheepishly. The look on his face is unreadable. Without a word, he sighs and puts his head down on the countertop.

“One night?” he asks. My heart nearly stops. 

“Wait, you’re actually considering it?” I ask, awestruck. He groans loudly, not moving in the slightest. I’ll take that as a yes. “Yeah, one night. And they’re not too rude, Ry. Also we don’t have to fuck by the way.” He bursts out laughing and looks up at me.

“Good to know, Bren.” He laughs again, and takes another sip of what was my beer. 

“So you’ll do it?” I plead. He’s quiet for a long time, staring off into space. I’m on the edge of my seat. Finally he breaks his eyes away from whatever he was staring at and takes a sip.

“Yeah, I guess so. Only if you let me stay here tonight. I don’t want to take a cab back home tonight,” he compromises. I smile and take a sip of his beer. Technically it’s mine, but who gives a shit.

“Whatever. You’ll also have to stay tomorrow night to be convincing. You can take the guest room tonight, if you want,” I reply, handing him the beer. He nods and puts his head down again. 

“Whatever right back at you. Tell me the terms and conditions in the morning, because that’s not information I think I can handle currently. For now, get me something stronger. I’m gonna need it,” he groans. A small smile peeks out from the corners of his mouth. 

“Whatever.”

~

I don’t remember getting into the bathtub, but here I am, at six-thirty in the morning. Every single tick of the bathroom clock explodes in my cranium, sending me swirling into the bathtub’s abyss of pain and misery. How very cliche I must be, to pass out in the bathtub of all places. I thought I was a more creative person than that. After getting into something a little too strong, I guess I lose that small bit of creativity I have.

I spot the Advil on the toilet seat next to the tub. Thank God. I must’ve put it there last night before I collapsed in the tub. That, or Ryan was kind enough to get it out for me. I definitely put it there. My hand shoots out and yanks the bottle back in. I down a couple and turn on the tub spout, since I can’t dry swallow. None of the water comes out. I twist the knob farther and an ice cold spray of water pours down on me. I shriek and slip onto my face. My head slams onto the side of the tub and my lip tears open on my teeth. I sit up, groan, and open my mouth to the artificial rain. Then, just my luck, the door opens. 

“I hope you have a better way of greeting your parents, otherwise we’re screwed,” Ryan utters. I stare at him, uncomprehending. I shrug.

“You’re sitting in the tub with the shower on, all your clothes on, nearly half a bottle of pills on the floor, and blood pouring down your chin. What did I sign up for again?” Ryan asks, emphasizing all of my misfortunes. I gulp down the pills and wipe my chin. 

“Can I have a little help up?” is the best I can manage. Ryan rolls his eyes and extends a hand. I pull myself up and stand face to face with him.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up. Then you can hash out the details, hm?” Ryan commands, pulling off my already soaked shirt and pulling the shower curtain shut.

“I’ll pour you some coffee,” he whispers, walking out and shutting the door behind him. 

~

I down the entire pot of coffee in one minute flat. Ryan stares at me. I stare back. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it after a moment of silence. He throws his arms out and walks away.

“So… What’s the plan for tonight?” he asks, taking a handful of cereal out of the box on the counter.

“Well, they’re coming for drinks at four, and then dinner a while later. I cooked it last night so all we need to do is heat it up and we’ll be fine.” I’m avoiding my next sentence. “So… You have to pretend to be my boyfriend, obviously, so-“

“What does that imply, Brendon? What do I have to do?” Ryan asks, cheekily. I shrug and pour more water into the coffee pot. I’m gonna need more coffee for this.

“Normal boyfriend things. Holding hands, laying heads on shoulders, maybe kissing.” I reply, trying not to sound like I’m internally shrieking. Because I am. He bursts out laughing. 

“What? What did I say? Was something funny?” I ask, sounding terrified. Because I am.

“Oh, Brendon! I expected way more gay things from you,” Ryan laughs. I smile, a little bit scared at what he means. Sure, I’ve done some highly gay things, but never in front of my parents. 

“Sure. Whatever you wanna do. Nothing that would make them hate me or you. Just make them uncomfortable. Got it?” I ask.

“Sure,” he replies, but I can feel his breath on my neck. I slowly drag my eyes away from the coffee, trying not to have a seizure or anything of the sort. I turn around, faking casual, and he smiles. Then, since it’s not at all possible for him to get even an inch closer to my body, he leans forward. Our lips touch and my first reaction is to fling my arms around his neck, but I hold them firm at my sides. He keeps his lips together, not smashing our faces together and sticking his tongue down my throat, which I would have no problems with if he did. No kiss in my life has ever felt this uncomfortable and awkward and comfortable and natural all at once. Those things are literally antonyms but they work so well with us. He rests one of his hands on my jaw and pulls back, drawing it out for as long as possible. For half a second he looks dazed. And then he blinks and snaps out of it. He smiles and pops his lips.

“Practice makes perfect.” 

“I- yeah..” I whisper. He smiles and pats my cheek a little harder than comfortable. A little between a tap and a slap. 

“So… Did we drink all the liquor last night, or is there still some left? Do your parents even like liquor?” he asks, rummaging through my cabinets. I blink a couple times before his question registers. 

“Oh, um, no- they're wine drinkers. I have some in the basement,” he nods shutting the cabinet door. I stand there staring at him. My brain is still not working. 

“Brendon?” he asks. I snap back into reality. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna go get it or do I need to?” he asks slowly. I gasp and scuffle over to the basement door. I need to pull myself together or else tonight will be a whole lot worse than I ever imagined. 

~

They say time flies when you’re having fun. Well, as it turns out, it flies a whole lot fucking faster when you’re wrought with dread. Nifty fact. All of the sudden the time has run out and I’m trying not to panic. Ryan’s rushing around the kitchen, alternating between checking on the food heating in the oven and setting the table. 

“You could help, you know,” he hisses as he bustles past me. I've just been watching him do his thing. It almost feels real. That's what we're going for, I guess, but it's feeling a little extra real. And I’m kinda liking it.

“Nah. I like watching you run around my house like a madman,” I reply. He looks up and scoffs. 

“Like your boyfriend. Remember that,” he corrects me, walking past but not before he presses a kiss on my cheek. I unintentionally blush like mad, which doesn't help my conscious at all. I can't tell if I’m like this because I've been single for so long, or if this is different. Different is scary. I look back up at him. He sets down a pitcher of water on the table and runs back past me again. 

“Okay so we’ll have drinks in the living room, and then we’ll move into the dining room around-”

“Ry, I brought you over here to be my boyfriend, not my slave,” I interrupt. He rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, you aren't doing jack shit in either department right now, so I'm having to do all the work for you,” he replies. This time /I/ roll my eyes. 

“Okay, fine. Yes, we’ll drink in the living room, and then around five we’ll come in here and eat for an hour or two and chat. Then dessert, and liquor. At that point feel free to feel me the fuck up, Ryan.” We glare at each other. “Then they’ll offer to get a hotel but I’m going to have to insist that they stay here overnight. Sorry about that part. Then in the morning we’ll eat breakfast and their flight departs around eleven. They’ve got more kids to see, and then by Christmas they’re on a cruise in the Bahamas, far, far away from me and my bisexuality.” I let out a long sigh. Ryan raises an eyebrow. 

“You're more stressed about this than I thought.” He chuckles nervously as he turns back to the oven, where he stares at the baking casserole. I sigh and smile weakly at the back of his head.

“Oh, and-” I grab him by the hips and spin him around. I plant my lips on his and he relaxes against me. Once again, I resist the urge to fling my arms around his neck and let him slam me against a wall. Instead I stay lightly pressed against him, just long enough for it to not feel weird. I pull back and wipe my lips on the back of my hand. 

“I don't completely suck at being a boyfriend.” I walk away, feeling very smooth indeed. The best part is that Ryan doesn't move an inch as I flounce away. He's too stunned and that fuels me greatly. 

***

I sit by the front door, nervously tapping my foot against the ground. “Ryan is everything ready?” I ask for the fifth time. He groans from the kitchen. 

“Yes, Brendon, for the seventeenth god damn time. Everything is fine,” he shouts back. I sigh and check the clock on my phone. It's four o'clock on the dot. I slam the back of my head against the wall in agony. This is too much for me to bear. 

“Ya know maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I had too much nerve or too much to drink and I over thought it. Oh god, Ry.” I breathe heavily. He storms over from the kitchen and crouches down in front of me. 

“Brendon. If you want me to leave- tell me flat out. Right now. Do you want me to go?” he asks sternly. 

“No,” I mumble. He pats my knee and rises. 

“Right, then. I'm staying as your boyfriend, and there is nothing you can do about it now.” He holds out a hand to help me up. I take hold of his hand. The temperature difference between my icy grip and his warm hand is really quite complementary. It's a nice balance. 

“Thank, Ry,” I whisper as he hoists me back up. He smiles and hops back up. He chuckles as he walks back into the kitchen. I’m finally settling back down, watching him fiddle with his phone charger. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. 

There is a knock on the door. Everything comes crashing down. Except me. I jump up and straighten, manic once more. Not even Ryan can save me now. I take a deep, calming breath, and open the door. 

“Brendon! It's so good to see you!” My mother rushes into the hallway, reaching out for me with arms extended and pulls me into a bone crushing hug. I talked a lot of shit, but her smile and kind eyes almost instantly make up for my worries. 

“Hi Ma.” I genuinely smile, squeezing her back. She releases me only on my father’s command, and he holds out a hand. 

“Good to see you, son.” He smiles, and it almost looks real. I can almost look past years of arguments, even for just a moment. I nod, shaking his hand firmly. 

“Good Lord, Brendon! It smells wonderful in here! I can't wait to eat!” My mother exclaims, taking a look around the house. It’s clean for the first time since I moved in, which is, by all standards, a miracle. 

“Oh well, you’ll have to wait until after Wine O’clock,” I laugh lightly. All of the sudden my mother narrows her eyes, and a sneaky smile appearing on her aged face. She nudges me gently. 

“You didn't do all of this yourself, did you?” she questions slyly. 

“No, of course not. I had Ryan to help me,” I reply, heart beating faster. I can hear my blood in my ears. It’s not helping that Ryan is a unisex name. 

“Ah, good to hear! Glad you outgrew all that bisexual crap,” my father chuckles. I gulp, physically feeling my face pale. Not good. 

“Let's see this pretty lady!” my mother insists. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. 

“Yeah, well, about that-”

“Hello, Mr. And Ms. Urie!” Ryan pops out from behind the corner, extending a hand. My mother and father politely shake his hand. I send him a look. /Perfect fucking timing, bud./

“And… Who is this?” My mother looks somewhat confused, but I think deep down she’s only faking it for my father’s sake. 

“Oh! Sorry, I’m Ryan. Brendon’s boyfriend,” he replies for me. He knows I'm stuck here. My mother pales a little herself and my father stiffens up. 

“Oh,” she whispers. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my father wipe his hand off on his coat. How mature. I break the awkward silence.

“Here, let me take your coats.” My mother and father shed their outer layers and hand it to me. 

“Ryan can you-” He nods and leads them into the living room. I walk over to the closet and hang up their coats. I stand in the doorway and take a breath. It's been two minutes and I'm already losing it. I can hear Ryan settling them in, but there doesn’t seem to be much of what civilized people would call “conversation”. I hang their coats up and take a few deep breaths. The little noise I heard before finally dies out, and Ryan walks over slowly. 

“Hey… You doing okay? They're sitting and admiring the room or something. But how are you?” he asks in an undertone. I nod slowly for a moment and then shake my head, eyes welling up. 

“They're crazy. ‘That bisexual crap?’ Can you believe them? It's only been like three minutes and-” He cuts me off with a hug. Not in a fake-romantic way, more of a ‘I'm sorry your parents are assholes’ way. I try to suppress my insufferable shaking with a small smile, not that that has ever helped. But regardless he stays and holds me. I can feel my breath returning to me, and even a little of my composure, shockingly. The deep breaths I keep taking are so intoxicating, but damn, they’re working. I could get used to this. 

//

The drinks portion of the get together has got to be the most awkward and painful thing I've ever experienced. My parents only ask questions every few minutes and often ‘forget’ that I'm not dating a girl. This is worse than any hell they can preach about me going to. This is much worse 

“So, Brendon, how has your work been? You're… Becoming a musician, correct?” my mother asks. Neither of them have asked Ryan a single question. They haven’t so much as looked at him.

“Yeah, Mom. I am a musician. I made a record. Ryan’s a musician too,” I reply, coldly. She nods, at least making an effort to be civil. 

“Oh. That's… Nice,” she sighs. My father stands up and I can feel my stomach drop to the floor. 

“Brendon, may I have a word with you in the hallway?” he asks dully, after he takes a long sip of his wine. I send a look to Ryan who nods. I smile falsely and stand. 

“Of course. Dad.” I follow him into the hallway. 

“Brendon… What did I tell you? You need to find yourself a nice girl. You've been picky your whole life-”

“I’m not picky! You just need to understand that this is what I want. I don't need a girlfriend right now,” I hiss. He pinches his brow, looking antagonized. 

“Stop spinning lies. Ryan is a boy. So are you. Can't you see how wrong that is?” he asks. I scoff at him. 

“Wrong? Wrong how? Wrong that I’m happy? Dad, this is the twenty-first century! You need to get over you outdated policies and accept that you have a partially gay son!” I whisper shout at him. 

“I do not!” he snaps at me. I shrink back a little. “I have a son who can't see idiocy when it looks him in the face. I have a disgr-”

“Brendon? I hate to interrupt but I suggest we start eating soon. I don't want it to get too late.” Ryan peeks his head around the bend. With an agitated glance at my father, I tear my eyes away from him and check my phone. He's right. It's almost five thirty. It sure is odd how time flies. 

My father straightens up. 

“Of course. We wouldn't want out meal to get cold.” He saunters into the dining room. My mother follows, not looking at either of us. I let out a quiet but very hateful laugh. 

“Did you catch any of that?” I growl. If I sound angry, I can’t sound hurt. That’ll work for now. 

“Bits and pieces. It didn't sound good,” he replies, putting his hand on my cheek. I smile away the pain. 

“It wasn't.” He looks at me, sympathetically and leans in. He presses against me lightly. I pull back. 

“I love you,” I whisper before I can stop myself. And with those three words, I possibly fucked up everything. I hold my breath. He looks at me weirdly, like he can't tell if I'm kidding or not. He pecks me on the cheek. 

“Love you too, B.” I stare at Ryan as he walks into the kitchen. Interesting. 

My parents in the presence of food is an interesting thing. When they eat they seem to forget their opinions and disapproval. It's nice to be around them and have them forget who you are, as weird as that sounds. Ryan and I set down the big bowl of salad and a good, old fashioned casserole. My parents look over the meal approvingly as we sit. 

“This looks delicious… Boys.” My mother tries to smile, but ends up looking a bit pained. I smile back. Ryan squeezes my hand under the table. 

“Thanks. Well… Dig in,” I reply. They speed into motion, piling their plates with food. Ryan sighs quietly, still holding my hand, out of view of my parents. If it's out of view, I don't really see the point. But I don't really care if there is a point anymore. 

Ryan must’ve laced the food with something, because there’s no way my parents are just naturally this carefree and open minded. I'm sure it's not the food alone, as I'm not the best cook, so it could be the alcohol. That, or Ryan actually laced the food with something. I wouldn't be too surprised if he did. And I definitely wouldn't be mad. 

“So… How long have you two been… together?” My mother asks, still keeping her normal slightly uncomfortable tone. Shit. Ryan and I didn't plan this bit. I figured they wouldn't ask. God damn it. 

“A year,” Ryan replies before I can panic too much. Thank God he's good at thinking on his feet, otherwise we’d be so screwed. My parents nod slowly, trying to accept this information. 

“And… do you live here, Ryan?” My father asks sternly. Ryan shakes his head. 

“Not really. I stay here a lot, so I guess you could technically say I do. But I have another house in the city,” he replies calmly. I squeeze his hand harder. He digs his nails into my skin. I jump a little and release his hand. I must've been crushing him. I do that when I'm nervous. 

“No premarital sex, I presume?” my mother stiffly asks. I can’t speak for Ryan, but I choked on our food. 

“Mom!” I shout. Ryan is stifling his laughter beside me. How is this funny to him? 

“Brendon, I’m just making sure that you’re at least sticking to your religion, if nothing else,” she explains. Ryan snorts and excuses himself from the table. I glare at him as he walks away, cackling quietly. 

“I am an atheist!” I hiss at her. 

“Brendon Boyd Urie I cannot believe you sometimes,” she scoffs back at me. 

“You can't believe me? You two are the ones who are stuck in the eighteenth century! The ones whose morals are so corrupt they can't even behave like normal people!” I whisper shout at them. 

“How dare you speak to your mother like that! We have done nothing but raise you the way a true American should be raised! A good religion with stout beliefs, and a loving family. And you go out and you disgrace us!” he shouts back. My mother looks at my father, a little shocked. I'm not shocked. He was gonna say it earlier, but Ryan walked in. I've just been waiting to hear it. 

“Is that what I am to you? A disgrace? Huh,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. 

“Dear…” my mother whispers. 

“Hey, sorry I had to leave. That was rude of me,” Ryan apologizes, walking back in. I smile at him, as of nothing had just happened. He plops down in his chair and looks around. 

“Is everything alright?” He surveys the group, like it’s hard to tell. This is the first time all night I've seen him nervous, and maybe even a little bit scared. 

“Yes,” my father spits. Ryan nods and looks at me for confirmation. 

“Yeah. We're good.” I smile and press my lips quickly onto his. He smiles questioningly as I pull back. “All good.” I'm such a terrible liar. 

We eat the rest of the meal in relative silence, which is quite welcome, but as for dessert, my parents are being very vocal. 

“Ryan- I heard you're a musician too. What do you… Do?” my father asks, slurring his words from the glass of bourbon he's nursing.

“I play guitar and sometimes sing. I'm in a band. We've also made a record.” Ryan looks tired as well, despite the fact that he's not even drinking. My parents nod. 

“Ryan, are you a religious man?” my father asks. Here we go. 

“Not particularly. I've heard you are,” Ryan replies calmly. My father nods and takes another sip. 

“Well if you were, you’d know that everything about the two of you goes against the bible. Some people take very high offense to that,” he explains. 

“Some people being you,” I grumble. Ryan kicks me under the table. That's not what I meant by feel free to be ‘feel me up’, but okay. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I'm not religious then,” he smiles politely. My father nods skeptically. Ryan puts his head on my shoulder and sighs. My father looks increasingly uncomfortable. Out of the blue, my mother puts together a sentence that is somehow much weirder than everything else that’s been said tonight.

“Ryan, are you transgender? You look a little feminine,” my mother asks. If I had been eating something, I would have choked on it. I cough loudly. Ryan looks completely stunned. 

“Um.. No,” he replies. I stare at my mother. My parents might just be the thickest people to walk this world. 

“Well, then why did you choose to be gay?” Oh my god. I pinch my brow and squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can. 

“I didn't choose. I was born this way,” he responds, hand gripping mine a little tighter. 

“Of course you did! Everyone makes that choice. Why did you go the wrong way? Were your parents unkind to you?” My mother slurs a little. 

“Well, Ms. Urie, I chose to be happy. And if that means being gay, that’s fine. And no, my parents are doing fine,” he replies, keeping oddly cool. On the outside, at least. He’s gonna break my hand. I squeeze his hand back and he relaxes a little. 

“Hey Ry, can you help me with something in the kitchen?” I ask before my mother can fire back. He nods and excuses both of us from the table. I drag him over to the kitchen which is in view from the dining room. Just out of earshot, but they can still see us. It's the perfect place to be an asshole. 

“I am so sorry, Ryan. I knew they'd be bad but I didn't think they'd be this bad,” I whisper. He glares at them, arms crossed. 

“Yeah, I didn't know two people could be so thick,” he growls at me. I cough loudly as to get my parents attention. He glares at me suspiciously. As I slowly lean in, he gets the idea. He closes the gap and pushes me lightly against the wall. This time, I show no self control. I wrap my arms around his neck and whine quietly. I can feel his smile up against mine. He bites my lip and my jaw shoots open. We kiss, open mouthed, for a few seconds before I pull away. I can't get carried away or else this’ll get very weird. Very quick. 

“That’ll make them shut up for a little bit,” I whisper, untangling my arms from around his neck. He nods and steps back, not making eye contact. He still looks nervous. 

“Ry… What's wrong? I know that this is tough…” I trail off. There's not really anything I can say to fix this. 

“What did I sign up for again?” he whispers. I bite my lip and grab his hand. 

“I don't know,” I reply. What did he sign up for?

~

Like with dinner, we finish desert and the liquor course in relative silence. My mom starts yawning around eight. 

“Your mother and I had a very early flight to get here. An early night would be nice, so I think we’ll get going.” My father starts. Here comes the part I've been dreading all along. 

“No, no dad it's alright. We have a spare bedroom, it's only right. You came all this way, you should stay the night. I've already got breakfast planned,” I respond, trying not to grit my teeth upon delivery. He opens his mouth to most likely turn down my offer, but my mother puts her hand on his. He stares at her. 

“If you would like us to stay, we would be willing. How much damage can one night do?” she speaks for him. A lot. A lot of damage can be done in one night. We’ll just have to see who’s on the receiving end. My father sighs and plops back down in his chair. 

“The rooms all ready for you two when you are ready for bed. Bathroom’s just across the hall.” Ryan smiles at them. My mother smiles back and it almost looks genuine. Must be the liquor. 

My parents descend to their room while Ryan and I wash the dishes. 

“So… One a scale of 1-10, how awful was that?” I ask, nervously. He snorts an turns to me. 

“Eleven,” he spits, and turns back to the soapy sink. I sigh. 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

We wash the rest of the dishes in silence. When the last plate is shiny and sitting on its proper shelf, Ryan turns to me. 

“What now?” he asks, calmer than he was a couple minutes ago. I shrug. 

“Dunno. I guess we can stay up if you're not tired, or we can just sleep. Up to you.” I hop up onto the counter. Which was a mistake, as the counter is still pretty wet. 

He nods. “Okay. There's nothing else we can really do to piss your parents off tonight. I mean… There is, but that's all sorts of wrong,” he suggests weakly. I'm not sure if it was a suggestion or not. Just him bringing it up sent my mind whirling. I nod at him. 

“Oh. Right. Yeah, well,” I stutter. He raises his eyebrows at me. The bathroom door clicks and someone walks towards us. Ryan notices and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. Whether this is just for show, or he knows how much I need it, I don't care. He's making me happy again. 

“Brendon?” my mother asks, quietly. I pull away and turn around. She notices Ryan and stands just a little straighter. 

“Yes?” I ask, stiffly. She obviously refrains from huffing and crosses her arms.

“Your father and I are going to bed in a few moments. I just wanted to say goodnight,” she murmurs. I put up a hand a wave at her, standing my ground. She nods and walks away. I turn back to Ryan, who grabs me lightly by the jaw. I gulp visibly. He sighs and lets go, instead grabbing me by the shoulders.

“Go hug her. She’s your mom. Be the better man here,” he whispers.

“She might be my mom but she’s still an ass,” I hiss back. He stares at me, scowling. 

“Don’t be an ass back,” he urges. I feel the resistance slowly dissipate after each word he says. It’s weird how he can make me do anything, whether I want to or not. I roll my eyes at him, him smirking in return. After a few angry seconds, I stomp away and round the bend. I storm across the house to the dining room, where my mother is waiting- for some reason. 

“Bren…” she sighs, teary eyed. Something about the solemn look in her eyes and her quiet body gives me the ability to- just for a few seconds -look at her unbiased. She motions for me to take a seat, and so I do, keeping a close watch over her. She places her hand on top of mine. I remember she always used to do this before giving me a talking to, but this time I genuinely cannot fathom what message she could have to pass on to me. We stare at each other for a few moments, in complete silence. Then she sighs and rests her face on her hands. Her elbows rest on the table for once, despite her generic disgust towards being slouchy and immature. She peeks up at me through her fingers, looking almost… Scared. 

“I’m sorry if we made you unhappy today,” she whispers. I nod at her. I didn’t expect that. An apology from my own mother’s mouth to me. I lend her a small smile, patting her back softly, and she smiles back. It feels good to not completely hate each other for a moment. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever really hated her, I just hated for morals and values, as she hated mine. Just another war of hate. It’s all so stupid. 

“Go to bed. We can talk more in the morning. Once everything is out of our systems it’ll mean more… Thanks, though,” I whisper. She nods lightly, not breaking eye contact. I lean over and press a kiss onto her forehead. I don’t think she knows how much it means to me that, despite being intoxicated, she took her time and effort to attempt an apology.

My mother eventually gets up, says another goodnight, and walks to bed. I release a great sigh of relief and rest my head in my hands, massaging my temples. This is all too much for me. I don’t know how I survived it, but my best guess would be Ryan. It sounds so stupid, but it’s true. Speaking of which, Ryan’s soft footsteps pitter-patter up behind me. He drops his hands on my shoulders heavily, rubbing in slow circles. It feels… really nice. He’s really nailing the whole boyfriend act thing. There’s only one more thing he has to nail to perfect it. Me. But I don't think that’ll happen any time soon.

“That was really great, B. I’m really proud of you.” There’s smile in his voice, which, by default, makes me smile too. And plus, he’s really good at massages. 

“Ugh, it nearly killed me! I shall lay down and never wake up,” I groan dramatically, falling off my chair. My eyelids don’t feel all that heavy, but I would kill for some sleep. Or maybe just something to take the pressure off. After a good few moments of enjoying the comfort of the rug, I pull myself up. Ryan’s still smiling at me proudly, eyes glittering in the low light. He looks right out of some 50’s club in downtown Brooklyn. He looks fantastic. He grabs my hand, and starts walking me down the hall towards my room. 

“Then let’s go to bed,” he purrs, throat laced with the effects of drowsiness. His sleepy voice flips some switch in my head, and I lose it. I flip him around, and slam my lips onto his. He yelps and stumbles back a little, pale and flushed all at once. He accidentally bit my lip in the commotion, and I wipe a little blood from the smear down my chin. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, a little lisp forming from where my lips have swelled. 

He stares at me. “We don’t have to keep kissing. Your parents went to bed.” Looking much more irritated and worried than flustered, he puts his hands in his pockets.

“I know.” 

He scowls and then he stops breathing. His eyes widen for a second before he composes himself. We stand there, silently, and awkwardly. I don’t know what to do with my shaking hands, so they stay at my side. I bite my lip, not realizing what I’m doing. I’m not trying to make things worse. I’m really not.

“Oh fuck, Brendon,” he groans, leaping forward and plunging into me. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. His hands clasp my waist, he turns the both of us, he presses me against the wall. One of my hands snakes up the back of his neck and pulls at his hair. In return, he very nearly shoves his tongue down my throat. My self control? Gone. I moan at the sensation, not thinking about anything but Ryan. He reluctantly pulls one hand off of my waist to open the door to my bedroom, which he did so sharply, I’m pretty sure he broke skin. Not that that’s a bad thing to me. Not at all. 

He pulls us into the bedroom and locks the door, one handed. I guess he knows what he’s doing. That’s a plus. He throws me onto the bed, almost alarmingly roughly. Everything is escalating to the point where he’s getting a little scary, and I hate to admit it, but it’s definitely turning me on. I’m too high to register that his shoes are off and so is his shirt, so all that I really do take in is his body on mine. The warmth of his mouth is spreading to mine with every flick of his tongue. All the noises we make dissipate into the air, none loud enough for anyone to hear but us. Now I hear the clink of a belt buckle, and his fingers wrap around the loop of my jeans. He fiddles with them for a second, and a second too long at that. I pull his hair and he bites my lip and the only thing I can feel besides every single nerve in my body burning is how he moves on me. He whines against my mouth and moves his hands down to the button of my jeans. And then he pulls back.

“Brendon we can’t.” He lets out a groan, flopping down next to me. I understand he has the right to say no at any point, but-

“Ryan, I swear to God-“

“Not here,” he amends himself. He’s got my attention now. I roll onto my side and stare at him, awaiting answers.

“We could go somewhere. Maybe-“ I stop listening. All I can think about are how red his lips are, which could be from pressure, or the blood from when he bit me. And he’s disheveled too. His belt is m.i.a., his shirt is on the floor behind me, and he looks almost glossy. And every thing I notice gets me feeling hotter and hotter. 

He looks over at me. “Brendon?”

“Huh?” I hiccup. He chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“You’re not hearing a word I’m saying, are you?” he laughs quietly. I smile back at him.

“No. All I’m thinking about are your hands down my pants.” All my censorship is officially gone. He emits a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

“I was saying that we need to go somewhere if we want to do this. We can’t do it here cause obviously your parents are right next door,” Ryan repeats.

“We could do it in the car,” I shrug.

“Wow how classy, Brendon,” he snorts. I shrug again.

“What about your place?” I ask, leaning closer. Close enough to hear his breath hitch when my own touches his neck. 

“My roommate might be home,” he stutters, eyelids shutting slowly. 

“We’re about to find out!” I whisper shout, hiking myself up and out of bed. 

We grab coats and shoes, and sneak out silently. If my parents had heard or woken up, this would have been hell, whether they figured it out /or not/. Most everything is hell with them. We rush out through the front lawn and basically lunge into my car. I slam the keys into the ignition and the cars putters to life. I hope it doesn’t make enough noise to wake my parents. Once I’m sure they are still completely asleep, based on the fact no lights have been turned on yet, I floor it. Ryan doesn’t have to direct me anymore, cause I’ve been to his house so many times. He does, however, rest his hand on my upper thigh, which is a major distraction. There are only a few cars out still, which means we still have to follow proper traffic laws. 

We’re stopped at a particularly long red light. Ryan’s starting to get impatient and runs his hands up and down my leg. He digs his nails into the thin fabric of my jeans. I let out a small moan and clench my jaw.

“Ry…” I hiss through gritted teeth. He laughs.

“How the fuck didn’t you notice how fucking gone I am for you?” he jokes. I scoff.

“How didn’t I notice? How the fuck didn’t you notice? I practically came when you kissed me the first time.” He bursts out laughing. The light turns green and without a moment’s hesitation, I step on the gas. He stares at me, which I only barely see through the corner of my eye.

“Drive faster.”

//

Turns out his roommate wasn’t home. Which was quite a plus for us. 

I wake up, drenched in covers and feeling rather moist. From sweat, I think. Ryan is weighing down the other side of the bed. It’s his side. He always makes a big stink when it comes to sides of the bed. And he always gets his way. He rolls over, and almost completely on top of me. I giggle and shove him off with a quiet ‘getthefuckoff.’ He opens his chocolate eyes and gazes over me. He sighs contently.

“We fucked and now we’re fucked,” he sighs, face planting onto my neck. I chuckle, as he pulls one of the many blankets up over the two of us. I can’t find the words to argue nor agree, so I just keep quiet while he presses light kisses onto my collar bone. 

“Damn it’s cold,” he eventually sighs.

“Go turn on the heat,” I complain. Now that I’m awake, sweat is cooling and my temperature is plummeting.

“Or we could just shower. Together,” he suggests, looking up at me. 

“Or you could turn on the Goddamn heat like a decent person,” I demand. He ‘humphs’ and rolls off the bed. He yanks on a pair of underwear, giving me an excellent view for a few seconds, and slinks out the door. I hear voices, with perks up my interest. Because Ryan’s room mate isn’t supposed to be home.

“Why is it so fucking cold in he-OH MY GOD WHEN DID YOU GET HERE?” Ryan yelps. I snort into the pillow.

“Just got back. I have the nightshift, remember?” His room mate, Spencer, replies. I fly out of bed, speed into a pair of Ryan’s sweats and zoom to the wall for better range. 

“Oh yeah. Duh,” Ryan mumbles, sounding suspicious. He never sounds suspicious.

“Why…?” Spencer asks. I step out and into the living room.

“Brendon?” Spencer asks. I scratch my head nervously. I’ve known Spencer almost as long as Ryan has. I should’ve called Spencer to deal with my parents. I don’t know what persuaded me to call Ryan. (Yeah, I do.)

“Hey Spence. What’s up?” 

“Why the fuck are you wearing Ryan’s sweats?” he asks. Ryan wanders into the kitchen innocently.

“I demand an answer!” Spencer calls. I open my mouth to shout over him, but I know it’s no use.

“We had sex,” Ryan calls back. Spencer looks to me and raises his eyebrows. 

“Honestly Brendon, I expected more from you. You can do better than this douche,” Spencer scoffs. Ryan throws a banana peel from the kitchen, which lands on Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m not a whore!” Ryan shouts. Me and Spencer make “eh” kind of noises. Ryan looks like he’s about to fire back, but suddenly his head jerks up, and there’s panic written all over his face.

“What time is it?” Ryan asks. Spencer looks down at his watch.

“About… Seven-fifteen,” he replies.

“Shit!” I shout, racing back into the bedroom, quickly followed by Ryan.

“Are you two on a sex schedule or something?!” Spencer shouts from the living room. I burst out laughing and pull on my shirt from last night, whilst wiggling out of his sweats. I yank on the rest of my clothes and sit on the bed while I wait for Ryan to finish changing. I let out a long sigh, and fall back onto his comfy mattress. 

“I would pick you up and carry you, but I don’t think I can, no offense,” Ryan jokes, extending a helping hand as he pulls his shirt over his head. Instead, I intertwine our fingers and smolder up at him.

“I’m so tempted to blow you right now,” he whines.

“Y’ALL ARE NASTY!” Spencer’s voice is muffled, but definitely still audible.

“But your parents will be up soon, if they’re not already up,” Ryan finishes. He may think he has the upper hand here, but that is /not/ the case. He should know me better than that. I press my lips onto his neck and his face flushes. 

“Brendon, stop,” he hisses. I smirk against the already bruised skin of his neck, and bite down a little. He leans his head back a little before snapping back into reality.

“Nope, no, sorry, no.” He puts his hands stoutly on my shoulders. “Later. I promise. We have to finish making a good impression.” I roll my eyes in defeat.

“That’s gonna be a little different now,” I reply. He smiles and kisses me on the forehead. 

“Yeah, well. I’ll try.” He pulls me out of the room, full clothed and ready to go. Spencer barely looks up from his book as we stroll past. Ryan grabs my keys from floor where I left them last night, and before he opens the door, he twirls around him and kisses me. I bet my chapped lips don’t really feel all that good on his, but he seems to be enjoying himself just fine. A voice sounds from the corner of the room. 

“That was fast. And quiet. I always thought you were a screamer, Brendon,” Spencer pipes up, completely nonchalant. “Oh, and hey! Did I hear you mention Brendon’s parents, Ry? You must be in deep if you’re meeting the parents already.” Just like that, Ryan pulls back. He’s frowning. It’s more than that, I can tell, aside from a little nervousness. Spencer’s still laughing from the corner, but all that does out as the look registers with me. Doubt. And I drop everything.

I pull him out of the apartment and drag him down the hall. We walk in silence all the way down to the elevator. I don’t even remember either of us pressing the button, the elevator just appears. We climb in and stand in pure silence.

“Remember when I said I love you by accident?” I ask. Ryan doesn’t look at me. “I meant it.” He lets out a short breathy laugh and looks up from the ground. 

“Good to know.” I cross my arms and glare at him.

“No, no, no. You don’t get to just ‘good to know’ me after I slept with you, and told my parents we’re dating,” I shout. I didn’t mean to yell at him, it just happened. He stares at the floor, and doesn’t say a word.

“Ryan I- Oh my god,” I groan, and march over to him. I scoop his face up and press my hurting lips onto his. I just want to get my point across, so I pull back quickly. Just a peck. “Talk to me.” 

How exactly do I tell him that he’s got nothing to worry about and that I don’t expect the world from him, nor am I just going to drop him off the face of the Earth after my parents skip town? It’s not exactly an easy thing to say: ‘hey there pal, I’m in love with you and I have been for god knows how long, but no pressure, alright?’. Man, my forward thinking skills are missing their mark today. Then again, I woke up above five minutes ago. 

“Look, okay. I know you’re probably worried about something, and I’m not good at guessing what, so let me say this: Let’s just get through this morning and take it from there.” He smiles minutely at me, and takes my hands in his. I search his eyes for the doubt I thought I saw, but all traces are gone. He’s happy again, or something like it. He lets go of one of my hands and reaches into his pocket and hands me his chapstick. 

“Thanks,” I mutter, blushing like an idiot. I’m such a mess, and I can’t really afford to seem that way in front of anyone right now. Least of all my parents. Ryan looks a mess too. He’s got bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, which I’m sure I’m also sporting right now, his hair’s a mess, and he still looks nervous. Almost like he’s holding something back. I go for it.

“Say it.” I rub my lips together and put the chapstick back in his pocket. 

“Does this mean I’m actually your boyfriend now?” I chuckle and press my lips on his. The elevator dings and the door opens. He keeps his eyes shut even after I pull back. He’s got that dazed look again, like when I kissed him in the kitchen. 

“Let’s go ask my parents,” I whisper, and walk him out of the elevator.

//

The door is locked, which only adds to the hassle of getting inside silently and pretending we didn’t just drive from halfway across town. I’m going to owe Ryan forever because he remembered the keys when I didn’t. He shuts the door behind himself and tiptoes into the kitchen. The shower is on, which means at least one of them is awake, which could end drastically for the both of us. 

“Coffee pot- Now,” I command, padding lightly into my bedroom. He jogs silently over to the pot and flips it on, while yanking off his shoes simultaneously. I run to the bedroom and upturn some blankets to make it look realistic and just as I throw off a final pillow, the shower stops and I hear the sound of the curtain swing open. Stepping lightly, I bolt from the room and into the kitchen, my feet slipping into my slippers along the way. We’ve got about thirty seconds before someone opens the bathroom door, and I intend to use those seconds. I practically smash into the fridge, yank open the door and grab the carton of eggs out before I know what I’m doing. The stove is already on, like he read my mind. 

I smash an egg on the counter and drip the remains into the pan on high heat. Apparently Ryan doesn’t know how to cook eggs. Dropping the busy act as the door opens, I turn to him at the sink with my hands on hips hips.

“Why the hell are the eggs on high heat? That’s not how you cook eggs,” I scold, pointing a spatula at him. He glares at me over his shoulder but freezes when he notices one of my parents behind me. He shrugs and sets the glasses of water on the counter calmly. They clink quietly against the marble countertops, almost blurring out the noise of my father’s footsteps. All of my remaining energy goes into not grumbling about how I wish it was my mother as opposed to the bigot in front of me. 

“Smells good, boys,” my father intones, standing a not so casual fifteen feet away. As intolerant as he usually is, it’s a step in the right direction that he said “boys”. Ryan smiles sweetly and returns to the eggs, stranding me to talk to my father. Something I would rather avoid, because without the small amount of compassion my mother has for me, he’s a wild animal. Under Ryan’s careful eye, my father motions for me to come near and speak to him. There’s no use trying to talk to him, but just like old times, he’s not really giving me any options. 

“Morning,” I mumble as I walk past him to set the table. I don’t remember grabbing silverware, I guess I went blank in my internal rage. He stops me and sends me a glare. The very same glare he sent me as a little kid when I tried to ignore him in my teenage rebellious years. It’s like hearing your alarm midday and feeling that dread even though you know it’s not actually signifying time to awaken. Same feeling, like it shouldn’t affect me anymore, yet it still does somehow. 

He opens his mouth to talk to me, but I’m not letting that happen.

“Can you maybe wait to pick a fight until after breakfast? I wouldn’t want to ruin your morning,” I hiss. His jaw tightens and he straightens up. I can almost hear Ryan eavesdropping from the kitchen. 

“Don’t be that way, Brendon.” Oh, I'm the one to blame? I shouldn't even be surprised at this point. I roll my eyes, because I'm petty and bitter, and continue setting places for all four of us at the table. Ryan is encouraging me to attempt to be a good son, and by not saying every last word of hate in my brain, I am being that better man.

I'm the most immature man there is. 

“Fine. What did you want to say?” I level my tone of voice and look him in the eyes. God, sometimes being an adult is hard. Sometimes being a child is hard too, yet I lived with this man for seventeen years of my life. 

My dad draws himself together. “Brendon, you are my son. I've done everything I can to raise you right. The way you turned out is not my fault, it is your own choice.” Is he disowning me? 

And then fear hits me like a truck, all endlessly flowing down the pit in my stomach. 

“And as your father…” I hold my breath. “It is my duty to respect that. Whether I disagree with who you are, you're still my child, my responsibility. I'm not a particularly wise man, Brendon, but I do realize that sometimes you've gotta sacrifice yourself for those you love. You hear me? I'm not saying that I understand or approve of who and what you do, all I'm saying is I'm going to stop throwing tantrums. I'd prefer you marry a woman, have a more reliable job and all that, but if you carry on with music and marry him, well, I'll get over it, I suppose.” I rush over to him and wrap my arms around roughly around his shoulders. The adrenaline has left me shaking, forcing its way out of my body in tears. There's a ringing in my ears that confuses me, I've only ever heard it when bad things happen to me. And while it's not the golden ticket, this is the next best thing. 

He slaps me on the back and pulls away. He's not crying, not that I expected him to be, but there's is a new look in his eyes that I've never seen before. I can't place it, but it warms my heart. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he stops me. 

“So, where's this breakfast I smell? Let's eat!” Ryan chuckles from the kitchen.

“It’ll be another few minutes, Mr. Urie, but it should be done in no time!” My dad nods and takes a seat at the table, welcoming my emerging mother to the meal. Even with the allure of a good meal, she sent me a kind smile before seating herself. Better yet, Ryan trots over and puts an arm around me while we all wait for the food to fry. My dad unfolds the newspaper and puts on his reading glasses, while my mom nurses her cup of coffee. I lay my head on his shoulder and this almost feels like a family. 

//

Despite our last minute attempts to make breakfast before all hell broke loose, it actually went down fairly well. No one complained that it took a little while to cook, and what’s even more surprising? Everyone held back from being snotty!

But soon enough we finished eating, the dishes got washed and put away, and the time came for my parents to depart. Can’t say I really mind, after all I’d been through in those, what- eighteen hours? Mom and dad went back into their room to pack while Ryan and I did the last of the tidying. My mom was the first to reenter.

“Bren? It’s time for us to head out. We’ve got a plane to catch, and I don’t think your sister would enjoy us being late. Plus, we have to expect delays due to the season and all that,” she explains. My father appears behind her, and the two meander towards the front door. Ryan hangs behind in the kitchen. I pull open the front door and burst of cold air hits the three of us in the face. 

“Look at that,” my dad says, “a new day.” I can’t help but agree. 

“Well, son, it was good to see you. I’m glad it all worked out,” he shouts over the outside noise. 

“Me too, dad.” Then he pulls me into a hug and pats me on the back. My mom practically shoves him out of the way, barreling me over in yet another hug. 

“I’m gonna miss you, honey. We’ll say hi to your sister for you, okay? Make sure…” she looks lost. “Well, make sure you do your taxes. You’re an adult now, I can’t tell you what to do. Be careful, I suppose. We’ll be sending you gifts soon, so make sure to check the mail every day, okay?”

“Sure, mom. Same to you.”

“Okay, good.” She leans in oddly close. “And just between you and me, the next time you want to drive off into the night with your lover like you’re in a cheesy Hallmark movie, just do it a little quieter, will you? Not sure your father picked up on that, but nothing gets past me. Got it?” I stand stalk still. I can’t tell if Ryan caught that or not, and I don’t want to find out. I manage a small, uncomfortable smile and she winks at me. Then she turns to Ryan and waves.

“Bye, now!” Then my mother, father, and all of their suitcases disappear out the door and into the wintery wonderland beyond. My mom blows a final kiss as they pile into their taxi and take off. I shut the door and pivot around to Ryan, still pale as the snow outside.

“She fucking knows, doesn’t she?” he hisses. All I can do it nod. 

“Well, I guess I’m your boyfriend now. Nothing either of us can do about it now, is there?” he jokes. I lean against the wall and sigh, smiling my ass off.

“I guess not.” Ryan smiles back at me.


End file.
